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Written on a beach, while hearing the waves rap against the shore. |
| Sadness and Blindness, Are bliss of the fool, Who listens to himself And not others, as a tool For he prides himself on Forethought For at naught he finds His mind now gone For his soul now frayed His heart unmended He finds this betrayal Most uncomprehended For this overcast of hate That has befallen his doubt Now contradicts his mind All abounds and out Turntables of dreams That mix his regrets Are now toned down For his heart Now to forget |